Wednesday, August 18, 2010

Manuscript being read!

Okay, not by an agent or a publisher, but a very good friend of mine is reading the story to see how it reads.

After he and I speak about it, I'll start actively pursuing an agent. I do have to do some work first on a synopsis and a blurb, but I can do that. The process will bring about many rejections, but I've waited 25 years... I can wait a little while longer.

No one else has ever read the book except me, so having anyone read it scares me. I know that I love the story, but what if my friend doesn't? It's just something that's out of my hands now. Facing reality sometimes makes me uncomfortable, but what other choice do I have? Right?

We'll see!

Thursday, August 5, 2010

Excerpt from Ch. 9

Part of Demetrios' journey into the underworld:

       Journeying along the stretch of this impervious Tartarean blackness gave him time to consider his place in this cosmic amusement for the Moirae. Born of Olympæan and Protogenos ancestry, allied with the life force of the sacred mountain, and now a bonded ally with three storm gods, he could appreciate Zeus’ omniscient concerns better as well as the irony that he never asked for any of this. Moving up the divine ladder was never an aspiration of his; ruling his people with compassion and wisdom was more of what he had in mind. The air temperature around him dropped dramatically to where his teeth chattered and his eyes went numb, and then came the despair and sorrow and grief in waves. Olympæia counseled him to remain on the path, to follow where she guided him, since he would soon be in a place so sacrosanct that even to look, or try to look, at what would be around him would bring on a madness from which there was no return. He pulled his helmet over his head, his eyes toward the ground, or at least where he thought the ground should be.
       Arkadæa’s beleaguering winters, with ice storms and blizzards to blanket the region until Persephone surfaced from her Hadean sovereignty, were temperate compared to the bitterness carried through the obscurity through which he traveled. His faith in both the Earth Mother and her sister kept him from faltering, keeping him from succumbing to the rawness. From the heart of Tartaros, where Demetrios was headed, blew this breath of anguish, this killer of hope. Panic grew from within his gut, spreading like a cancer, moving through his chest and arms as he neared this sepulchral place, this place he could never see but had to pass through with only his devotion to be his beacon. A few steps later, without being told, he knew he was there, and the talons of terror snatched him, tearing apart his resolve, one piece at a time. He had arrived where none save Zeus himself had ever seen, and even the god of gods had felt the same emotions Demetrios felt; no one was immune from such soul-shredding agony.
       Here was where Kronos was buried.
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